Pull Me Home
by wirewrappedlily
Summary: Alternately titled "My Boy Builds Coffins". Sequel to "This House Is Falling Apart". Stiles and Derek's relationship isn't perfect, but perfect isn't something either of them really need anyway. With Stiles's powers still largely undiscovered, when Beacon Hills turns as deadly as it usually does, they're in more trouble than anyone or anything can handle. Sterek. M for sexitimes.


So Derek was a little pissed off about the whole not-telling-him-Stiles-could-die thing, but it wasn't bad. It actually made Derek ridiculously loving while Stiles recovered from healing him.

"So how does the weather thing work?" Lydia asked, stretched out with her legs over Stiles's lap and her upper body being cocooned with Allison's while they watched Derek throw the pack around like rag dolls.

Erica snarled, leaping, and Derek took her out by throwing Isaac into her trajectory, sending them bouncing across the grass. "It's weird. I only tried it day before yesterday because Jackson and Scott wanted to play lacrosse in the rain."

"Thanks for that, by the way." Danny muttered, handing Stiles his daily dose of Deaton's tea and sinking down to the ground in front of Lydia's hip. She immediately started playing with his hair, and Stiles bit back the instinctual wave of jealousy in order to focus on his boyfriend's strength in the murky sunlight. The wolves were in heavy pants, but not much beyond that, their breath rolling up in a column of white and steam lightly coiling off their bodies.

"Sorry, man."

"How'd you get out of playing, anyway?"

"Derek and Deaton had a talk with Coach about my health right now. I would've liked to play, but Derek's been through enough, and I didn't have it in me to argue with him."

"He made out with you until you agreed didn't he?" Lydia deduced, the picture of shrewd logic.

"It wasn't actually necessary, but yes." Stiles grinned cheekily at the look Lydia shot him and Allison's laughter.

"He's been worried about you." Allison's thumb massaged at the back of Stiles's neck, and Lydia reached for his hand. "We all have been."

"I refuse to get into another puppy pile with you all, because you are all very heavy, but I love you all, too."

Lydia pinched his arm, "I am not heavy."

"No, but you are bony and pointy and sharp in unsuspecting places." Lydia narrowed her eyes at him, huffing still.

"So will you be getting any kind of training? Being Derek's mate, you should have some." Danny reasoned, crumbling mud off of Allison's boot.

Stiles sighed, "Well, it's complicated…"

"Does Derek not want you to?" Allison questioned immediately, a line forming between her brows.

"It's not that, the problem is where I'd be getting the proper training from." Stiles sighed, in the same tone of voice that had told them 'that place I was' for weeks, that never failed to change the topic. Stiles didn't want to discuss Laura sitting on the stairs to their right, or that, as things were, he knew more about Derek's past and heritage than Derek did.

"Have you...Have you and Derek talked about it, at least?" Allison asked, and Laura's head turned to look at them with something that could be pride.

"Not...not really. He...he gets this look like I'm tearing him apart. I can't…" Stiles's voice dropped to a breath, just barely audible.

"Stiles, you need to." Danny murmured.

"If Danny were half the chicken shit you are, we would be short a computer genius."

"He heard Jackson transform into the kamina over the phone, Lyds, I think even I would question what the fuck was going on."

"You ask that question almost constantly, Stiles." Derek panted, flashing a smile at him as he stole the water bottle out from being mashed between the curve of Stiles's lap and the side of the seat.

He's breathing a little harder than usual and he's sweating just enough to glisten, and Stiles can almost hear ovaries exploding and his own libido leaping to attention. Derek must smell it, because his pupils dilate, and the smile stretches over his cheeks once more, and Stiles kind of wants it to be predatory. Stiles grins back, and Derek leans down over Lydia's legs, kissing Stiles slow and sweet and deep, his fingers brushing down Stiles's throat, "That was a good workout." Stiles whispers against his mouth.

Derek hummed, kissing him again, "You're freezing, this can't be good for you."

"I've got a Lydia-blanket and I'm wearing two shirts and three sweaters, and a pair of your wool socks, I won't catch pneumonia."

"No, but you'll catch strep throat with no scarves and no hat. Go inside, sickly one!" Lydia would've kicked him in the thigh for punctuation, but Derek's hand wrapped around her ankle before her boot could connect, flashing her a hard look before his other arm scooped Stiles up.

"You're actually leaving a practice before the pups? You don't-"

"They're going to play now, not practice, and I'd rather make sure you don't catch something and then build it into something that'll end up killing you."

Stiles scowled, "I am not that helpless."

"No, but your luck is that bad." Danny chirps, sliding up into Stiles's vacated spot.

Lydia made a shooing gesture, grinning widely as Derek herded Stiles away.

They stepped into the back door of the healing Hale house and Stiles went completely boneless, forcing Derek to catch him and hold him up, which wouldn't really slow him down, but the confusion would buy him a few seconds, "What's going on that you've separated your lamb from the herd, Big Bad?" Stiles asked fondly, refusing to use his limbs as Derek tried to maneuver them.

Derek goes still, curving down slightly so that his mouth his against Stiles's skin, "I'll eat you up, I love you so." Derek growls, his hand running down Stiles's chest with enough pressure to drag Stiles backwards against him hard, his nose nudging against the soft skin behind Stiles's ear, his lips brushing over his neck.

Stiles shuddered, pressing back, leaning his head against Derek's shoulder, baring his neck in one long, pale stretch. "You'll have to keep me forever now, you realize that."

Derek kissed the pulse in Stiles's neck softly, "Kind of what I was after. Hold still for five more seconds…"

That alone would've gotten Stiles moving immediately, but Derek was faster on the draw, scooping him up before he could register and react to the words, laughing at the look on his face as he carried him upstairs. "You're kind of evil."

"Do you not remember my name? Is that the reason for the nicknames?"

Stiles bit his lip, and held on as Derek set him down and went to move away. Derek shot him a look and sat with him, both of them migrating together on the bed, sorting out limbs unconsciously until they were close from shoulder to ankle, "Names have power-names have the ultimate power. With a name, the wild can be tamed." Stiles said the words like they'd been drilled into him, and Derek's expression darkened.

"You aren't kidding, are you?"

Stiles shook his head, paler even than usual, "I don't even know the real name for what I am."

"So by knowing my name…"

"I don't want to tame you. '_He must master or be mastered; while to show mercy was a weakness. Mercy did not exist in the primordial life. It was misunderstood for fear, and such misunderstandings made for death. Kill or be killed, eat or be eaten, was the law; and this mandate, down out of the depths of Time, he obeyed._'" Stiles linked their fingers together as he murmured the quote hollowly.

"I don't live by those rules, and Jack London is _not_ playing fair."

Stiles smirked, "I never said that I played fair, sourwolf, you just agreed to the game without a second thought. Kiss me." Derek's eyes sparked with colour, lighting with playful joy before he leaned in, kissing Stiles long and soothing. Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles, wrapped his body around him, grinning as he ran his fingers through the short ends of Stiles's hair, messy and horribly flyaway, but grown longer after his disappearing act. Stiles loved the way it felt to have Derek's fingers in his hair, so long it would stay. Derek hummed happily as Stiles pressed against him.

"I should be showering, Stiles." Derek sing-songed, smiling again.

"Can I come?"

"No." Derek laughed, kissing him softly for a second again, "Get your freezing cold toes under those blankets and bundle up."

"How could you possibly know my toes are cold?"

"It's you, Stiles. The weather gets even a little cold, and your toes, fingers, and the tip of your nose turn to ice."

"I live with a breathing space heater, I'm good." Stiles kept a firm grip on Derek's wrist, knowing Derek was too gentle with him to break it, "Since I can't shower with you-which would warm me all toasty right up, by the way, can I convince you to come to bed naked?" Derek's brows knit together in the expression that signalled 'you will not win this', and Stiles narrowed his eyes, "No, do not say 'boxers'. We sleep every night with you in boxers, I want skin."

"What about what I want? It gets cold!"

Stiles grinned at him, and Derek actually couldn't hold back cracking up at that, too for very long. "I'll hold you tight. I won't let you get cold." Stiles smiled goofily, holding his arms open wide for Derek to slip into. Derek rolled his eyes, sighing. "I will keep on at least a layer. I do reserve the right to sleep-strip when your breathing space heater ass gets too hot in the night, though."

Derek grumbled, rolling his eyes as he climbed off of the bed for the shower, "Fine."

Allowing himself only an inner happy dance, Stiles yawned as he curled up on his side, facing the washroom, ready for his boyfriend to remerge.

It's been slow going with them physically, but not for a lack of wanting to, more for a lack of being able to. Derek's last relationship was with a psychotic, murdering bitch, and while Stiles kind of doubts he was completely celibate from then on, he also gets it that there's a difference between having sex with someone and-and he feels like the biggest heart-eyed tween ever, but-making love. Derek trusts him in a way that he trusts no one else. No holds barred, full stop, Derek is his. It still makes Stiles question his alpha's sanity, but there'd never been a time when that hadn't been in question.

In any case, it was difficult for Derek, because the last person he thought he'd given himself over to completely actually tried to burn him alive; had burned his family, his heritage, and a lot of his happiness. So, Stiles adopted an approach vaguely like one that would be used, he assumed, on a skittish horse. Everything slow, step by step, working his way up through all the different ways to just touch. A hug out of the blue; a chaste little kiss on his temple or nose or the very corner of his mouth; taking Derek's huge hand and wrapping it up in both of his to his chest, his heartbeat against Derek's palm while the peace that that gave Derek washed through him and had bourn him away. He worked on to sliding his hand under Derek's shirt just slightly after that, massaging his shoulders when he was worried about Stiles, or pressing lightly on his back when Stiles could almost feel Derek beginning to get angry. When Derek would press back against his hand and hum like a happy wolf, Stiles took things up to the next level: moving his mouth against Derek's pulse in his wrist first, not even speaking the words-that Stiles would never do anything to harm him, ever, and that he loved him-just moving his lips to form the words without giving them breath. Derek would uncurl his hand from around Stiles's after that, laying his fingers against Stiles's cheek to bring his mouth up for kisses, but that wasn't what Stiles was after-that wasn't the sign. When Derek let him stay there, let him murmur everything silently and then slowly kiss his way up the soft of Derek's arm to the crook of his elbow, then he was ready, and Stiles had fallen asleep by the time Derek's body molded against his from behind, completely encasing him in sleepy, cuddly werewolf; rather than bask stupidly in the victory.

The next bit had been tricky: Stiles was showing Derek he could trust Stiles with his closeness, and Stiles knew it had to be reciprocal-knew that he had to show Derek he trusted him implicitly in order to make sure that Derek would return that trust. He also knew that he couldn't move it quickly, couldn't make it obvious if it wasn't already, and he definitely couldn't just tell him that he trusted him, because it wasn't time for that yet-Derek had to be shown before he could be told. Banking on the loose assumption that, to an extent, Derek already knew he trusted him, Stiles started baring his throat as they made out, keeping himself careful not to go for leaving any hickeys on Derek's skin in return. It was a little bit wolfish, and most of what Stiles wanted here-most of his goal-had nothing to do with anything that came with Derek being a wolf, let alone being an alpha. But there was a certain amount of damage done to Derek about being a wolf-also in the shape of Kate Argent, and Stiles prayed that she got to suffer torture worse than anything he could imagine nonstop in Hell-and Stiles had to show Derek that the wolf was safe with him, too. He knew that Derek had fully shifted after Stiles had collapsed from healing him, carrying him to Deaton faster than the cars would've gone, actually, which concerned Deaton to no end. Stiles kind of wanted Derek to fully shift again, though. When he was conscious and could brush his hands over the monster's face and tell him he isn't a monster; he's a good man-a great man, and a great wolf.

He started making more cracks-though carefully, and usually with a completely unfaltering sense of timing making them rejected before they began-about sex. They weren't-well, Derek wasn't there yet. So instead, it became something they could acknowledge. They would make out furiously and Derek would hold him close as they both calmed down; and they'd slept in the same bed together since before Derek had moved Stiles out of his dad's, but it was after that that Stiles began to come to bed in slightly less than he had before, and Derek followed suite not long after that. Stiles would wake up some mornings because Derek's hands had migrated under his shirt, and were too hot for Stiles not to notice them leaving his skin. Stiles holds his hands there most mornings still, pushing back resolutely until Derek starts playfully struggling and a tinge of seriousness creeps into his voice about needing to get up now. Stiles knew after the third time doing that, that Derek would take it rightly as the permission given. Derek would touch him without thought after that, his hands finding skin, drawing Stiles to him. He had an uncanny knack for figuring out where Stiles would like to be touched, and how.

The nudity had always kind of been there: Derek would work out, work around the house, or just get too hot for his shirt in a literal sense, peeling it off before it drove him any hotter and lost control of the wolf. Stiles didn't mind, but it was more than Derek being gorgeous to look at; Stiles refused sexualize it so much, and while it'd taken him a while to be able to do it with Derek stripping off in front of him, he'd stopped getting blasted with hormones, taking it down to a slow, never-ending bake that Derek was aware of, but didn't need to call him on. Yes, he was a teenaged boy; yes, he had desires that weren't being met yet; but his boyfriend had been tortured by the bitch that had taken Derek's heart before Stiles could get there. He knew with perfect clarity that this was something that could ruin them if they ran off the precipice, and that terrified him more than enough to have a handle on his libido.

Getting Derek completely naked is the next step. The one after that his is own nudity, and getting Derek okay with touching him without it being sexual. Stiles watches blearily as Derek comes out of the bathroom still spattered with water, and thinks that maybe his plans aren't going to work out. The sheer amount of gorgeousness makes Stiles's heart actually stop for a moment there, and Stiles knows this because Derek's shooting him this look of complete, protective panic, as if he's been shot.

"Stiles-"

"'M good. Just...I need to get used to having a hot boyfriend." Stiles swallowed, trying to keep his eyes up, because he was already feeling way too hot under his layers. He managed a cheeky grin, throwing open the covers. Derek slid in, and Stiles hesitated putting his hands on Derek's skin.

"You said you'd hold me tight and keep me warm, get your bundled-up ass over here." Derek growled, yanking him into the smooth expanse of chest Stiles kind of hated having to wait to put his mouth on. "Your heart is going a mile a minute-"

"No, this was a good idea, this totally is a good idea, I want this, I want you. I'm sorry I'm out of control, just give me a second-"

"Stiles, you're a seventeen year old boy. If it wasn't for the fact that I can smell your hormones, I'd think you weren't interested in me at all. Why have you been so reticent about this?" Derek's hand slid under all of the shirts and sweaters, skimming calloused fingers up the middle of Stiles's spine.

Stiles shifted even closer-solely because of Derek's clever fingers, "I don't want to make you feel like you have to because I'm seventeen. I want you to trust me, and I don't want it to be something that causes so much as a scratch on our relationship. I love you. In kind of a desperate way. Even aside from the fairy stuff and that I _need_ you; I need you." Derek caught his words, pressing his thumb for just a moment to the corner of Stiles's mouth before looking him laughingly in the eye and leaning in for a kiss.

"This won't be a scratch on our relationship, Stiles, and you sound like the older man talking to the blushing virgin." Derek chuckled, going in for more kisses. "God, why would you think this...oh…" Derek's features darkened a little, his eyes filling with grief, and Stiles wanted to die for that. "Stiles...all this time, you thought I'd connect this to what happened between Kate and I?"

"I-I...I don't want you to forget-I know that you can't-but I do want you to let go enough to be a little happy again. I think...I thought erasing her would help." Surprise, surprise, Derek looked angry.

"Stiles, you erased her when you tried to kill yourself to save my life! You...god, Stiles, you have no idea about how much I love you! You-that night, after Gerard, god, you tried to lock me out so I wouldn't see you and-"

"And get yourself hurt trying to save them before we thought up a good plan." Stiles murmured softly, sadly.

"Stiles, you listen to me now! If I'd've gone there, saving them would have been secondary. I could've killed Gerard for what he'd done! I still want to!" Derek had a grip on Stiles's arms, his eyes crimson and his voice turning into a roar. Stiles was choking on air, his heart hammering like that night had just happened all over again, and Derek was suddenly gone, a whimper in his wake as he launched himself out too fast for Stiles to see through his blurry eyes.

"Derek! Derek, no! Please…" Stiles tripped his way off the bed, the panic attack growing until he was curled up on the floor at the foot of the bed, tangled up in the sheets and shaking too hard to move, unable to so much as breathe.

Allison's hand cupped the back of his head, her tone soothing as she murmured to him gently, urging him up and back onto the bed with a steady hand, "He's okay, he's still here. He still loves you, he just needs to regain control." She babbled, a soft and steady noise of reassurance that managed to break through, "He uses you as his anchor, like Scott does with me." Allison's steady stream of words cut off, and Stiles could feel the embarrassment roll off of her, a product of his powers. Allison left, and her hand was replaced by a much bigger, warmer one. Stiles pushed into the touch, Derek sliding around him.

"I'm sorry." Derek mumbled against his skin. Stiles sank into him, shaking his head as he did, pulling himself around until they were draped around each other.

Stiles pulled Derek's arms around him tighter, "Don't be sorry, please?" Stiles traced his fingers over Derek's chest and arm, "It's not your fault." Stiles pressed soft little kisses along Derek's bicep, "You need a better anchor."

"I need to protect my anchor better." Derek told him fiercely, his arms protective.

"I'm safe with you." Stiles told him with complete conviction. "It wasn't you I was scared of, Derek."

"I shouldn't've brought that night up at all-"

"No, no, you...you should know." Stiles took a deep breath, his long fingers wrapping around Derek's arm, "Gerard did it as a message to you and Scott. That he could. That you were weak, and he was ruthless. I'm the weakest link, Derek-"

"You could've told him anything, Stiles. You could have told him everything."

There were tears running down Stiles's cheeks, "I couldn't. He wouldn't let me speak." The strangled whisper burned him coming out, and Derek hissed under his breath as his face twisted as if it were a real pain, "He never gave me the chance to tell him anything."

Derek growled, low and deep, a heavy bass that made Stiles feel like staked territory Derek was warding the world off of.

"I want to say that I was strong enough that I didn't-"

"Stiles, you're being an idiot." Derek's words came out a whine, his head ducking against Stiles's shoulder as he shook his head like he was trying to stop those words from buzzing at him like a persistent fly. "You went home and you locked your window to keep me away; you stopped your panic and you tried to hide to keep me safe, to make sure Gerard couldn't do what he'd had planned with what would happen when I saw my mate beaten. You want to know why I stayed, why I waited and took the smart route? Wanna know why there was a smart route to go? It was all you, Stiles. It always is." Derek kissed him, slow and soft, cloying.

Stiles rests his forehead against Derek's, just holding him close, "I didn't know if you'd care that much-I didn't want to find out if you would or not. I just...I needed to believe that you would've cared at all-" Derek as a rule doesn't use kissing to shut him up. It'd work far too well, far too often, and it would lead to temptation on so many levels it had the potential to make Stiles mute and both of them entirely useless to the world. Derek's kissing him in a way that's so frantic there's pain behind it. Stiles feels like Derek would be yelling if his mouth wasn't plundering Stiles's tongue silent. He feels like Derek would be throwing something in his face, hitting him over the head with it until it registered. It wouldn't be the first time that had happened between them, and it'd been to Derek's surprise that Stiles had known just exactly how dangerous running with wolves would be, he just didn't care.

Derek let him breathe, becoming a Tasmanian Devil of lips and tongue and teeth on Stiles's skin, scenting him and marking him, gentle and careful for all he was being wild. Stiles moaned, hissed and arched into the attention, bucking his hips up against Derek's, moaning when he remembered the bare skin, groaning when he remembered that was what had started the fight, "You are so dense when it comes to you, Stiles. You drive me fucking _insane_. When I saw you-when you looked at me-You have no idea. Stiles, you have no idea what the wolf in me wanted to do to Gerard. What he still wants to do. I figured out I loved you then, you idiot. Everything that happened after-taking care of Jackson and Scott accepting a place in the pack-it was all for you. Do you not get that? When I told him what happened, when he saw how I felt about it, he became pack to protect you."

Stiles is kind of struck dumb at that, because where he ranks on his mental list of things important to his friends and where they actually rank him might be two very different things now.

"You care so much for everyone else that you forget to care for yourself, and you expect everyone else to forget you, too. I am telling you now, you brilliant fucking idiot, that that isn't even possible." Derek growls out harshly, his eyes hard and pinning. He's not close to losing control now, and Stiles is shocked rather than afraid. Derek curls down around him, and Stiles pulls him in as close as he can get, closing his eyes and falling into the familiar heat.

"Who saw you naked?" Stiles half-yawned, long and bony fingers tracing the lines of muscle under matchless tan skin.

"Jackson and Lydia." Derek laughs, running his own fingers through Stiles's hair, "I knew it was bad when it was them calming me down."

"Lydia got to see you naked? Damnit, I'll have to battle her for your hand now, 'cause-"

"It's no competition, I'm yours, always have been." Derek shushed, his long, huge fingers slipping under the sweaters and drawing them up.

"What are you doing?" Stiles mumbled suspiciously, looking down as if he could see.

"Getting you naked." Derek told him softly, with just an edge of amusement that kind of made Stiles dizzy. "How many steps is _this_ skipping?"

"Are we going to have sex?" Derek paused, his mouth against Stiles's pulse. It was a long, long moment before Stiles saved him from speaking, "Not tonight. Just one step, then." Stiles slipped his fingers under, too, lifting and shedding each layer slowly, lifting his hips for Derek to slide his jeans off.

With a snicker, Stiles ran his sock encased feet over Derek's shin after they'd settled down around each other. Under Stiles's ear, the low, throaty rumble of Derek's laughter sent vibrations over his skin. "We're having a moment of intense romanticism, and you kept your socks on?"

Stiles giggled maniacally, and it sent them both into a bout of honest, belly laughter. "This is going to be awkward tomorrow when I'm still a teenager and am therefore afflicted with morning wood." Derek snorted, tapping him lightly on the side in punishment.

"We agreed 'not tonight', no one said anything about not in the morning."

"Now you're just being mean."

Derek smiled, "What's the saying? 'Don't tease unless you can please'?"

Stiles groaned, melting into Derek's body heat, sinking into the feeling of skin, "Meanie head."

Stiles doesn't dream that night, too safe and warm and loved.

Gerard Argent dies of cancer as the seasons change and things start to warm up again, finding Stiles sitting with a book on the couch they've installed on the newly-fixed porch, draped with colourful blankets and scarves, sipping a cup of defiant iced tea there to tell the weather to just get warmer, already. Stiles is reading out loud, at a volume normal for conversation, to dead air. Derek isn't even in sight. But Sheriff Stilinski knows now that Derek can hear him anyway.

"Hi, Dad." Stiles says tightly, but with warmth, smiling slightly despite the concern in his eyes, "What's wrong? What's happened?"

Derek appeared from somewhere in the house, wiping his hands on a rag before he shook his boyfriend's father's hand and gestured for him to sit in the arm chair while he took the unoccupied spot on the couch. "Well, Gerard Argent died of cancer last night."

Stiles didn't smile, but he could feel the wave of relief come over Derek and he mirrored it in his heart, "The charges, therefore, are null." Stiles surmised, "No court for Stiles."

Derek snorted, "I can't help but think that's a good thing." Stiles pouted until he couldn't resist grinning, and his father chuckled at them.

"Before he passed away, Gerard requested that you attend his funeral-just you, Stiles. Dependant on your attendance, he's apparently left something in the will for you."

Stiles's eyes widen, Derek's hand slipping around his before he could so much as twitch. "Meaning, if Stiles goes to the funeral without me, the psychotic bastard that kidnapped and tortured him will give him a treat for his troubles? This reeks of set-up."

The sheriff nodded, "I thought so, too. Chris and Allison have promised me his safety, though; and they tell me they'll promise you his safety, too, which I take to mean something much more." Derek nodded, his hand squeezing lightly around Stiles's.

"It doesn't matter, he's not going." Derek told him, voice harsh with a vaguely homicidal rage that was entirely human.

"No, Derek...I think, if he would set it up like this...I think he'd make the prize something we'd want. Something that would help us survive." Stiles reasoned quietly and calmly, though fear would probably be helping his case more, because Derek and his father both seemed to think he'd slipped into a state of shock of some kind.

"Stiles-"

"No, Allison will have my back, and you can be close by. If he knew that something's coming, I want to know what, and I want every advantage out there in order to stop it; and if it is a ploy to kidnap the alpha's boyfriend, then we have people to fill jail cells and body bags." Stiles looked between them before squeezing Derek's hand and looking him dead in the eye, "You and I need to protect the pack, Derek: I have to do this."

After his father left, Derek scooped Stiles up against him, his chin firmly against Stiles's shoulder, ostensibly watching Stiles play with his fingers, "You said my name so I'd agree."

"I thought you didn't believe in that."

"You use it when you need to, and it seems to work when you do."

"Last time I used it, you came back to me after forcing yourself to run away. It helps me keep you, sourwolf, don't fight it."

Derek kissed the delicate place under Stiles's ear, "I won't fight it, but I don't like you going to Gerard's funeral."

"I know. I don't like it either, but the bastard was evil and psychotic and terrifying, he'd do something like this just to spite you. If your weak little human can't go to one funeral, you don't get the one thing you need to save all of our lives."

"You're not weak." Derek growled, nipping his shoulder. Stiles shrugged, relaxing back against the warm, broad expanse of chest, "Stop it, Stiles. I'm not joking with you here. You are not weak, you never have been. You're ridiculous and annoying, but you're not weak."

"You sure do know how to sweet-talk a guy." Stiles purred laughingly.

"The first time we had sex, you kept murmuring 'it's not that big' under your breath. You do not get to point that finger."

"That was a pep-talk! I was pep-talking myself!" Stiles screeched, colour flooding to the tips of his ears. "You are not a small man and I-"

"You were trying not to panic." Derek finally murmured, letting him off the hook. He knew he should've held it longer, but Stiles got very shrill very fast when he thought his sex life was at stake.

"But I trusted you and we had sex, and it's very good sex, we should have more sex. Like, right now." Derek chuckled, and Stiles cursed him silently, "You can't fall for this ploy for once in our goddamn lives?"

"No, and you shouldn't try to make me, Stiles. You are the one that complains that we don't communicate enough."

"...Communicate with me between orgasms?"

"Stiles."

"Fine! Fine. I need to see him go in the ground, Derek. You've heard the Winchesters talk about all the times they've gotten out of prison? All the times they didn't die when everyone thought they had? I need to see him in the ground; I need to see him dead."

Under him, Derek stiffened, "Why didn't you tell me you were worried about this?"

"Because there's nothing you can actually do about it unless Gerard really did fake it and escape. There's...there's no reason to panic, not until it happens, and I've kept my eye on it, I've made sure to keep my eye on it-" Stiles was beginning to hyperventilate, Derek curving around him, cradling him, "I felt horrible because I couldn't stop being afraid. I don't want to be afraid, I know you'll protect me. I haven't been this safe since...since my mom was around, singing me to sleep." Stiles told him in a whisper, unseeing eyes on Derek's chest, rising and falling. "But I can't just sit back and idly trust that you don't need me to help you protect us. I'm not that young. I know you need help, and that I need to give it to you."

"Stiles-"

"No. I can barely do anything, but this I could do, and I didn't want you worry about me while I did it, because you don't need to do that. Not about this. I-"

"You were _kidnapped_. And _tortured_. Stiles, there is no way you ever should've done this on your own!"

"You take care of the werewolf side of things, Derek, the least I can do is deal with the human aspect." Stiles argued, getting worked up in the old fight.

"The least you can do is keep yourself sane! You are strong, Stiles, but no one should have to keep an eye on the person responsible for their nightmares!"

"You tried to! If Kate Argent had lived, you would've!"

"I thought I was alone, Stiles! There was no one there to care about me, and I didn't expect anyone to-" Stiles slapped him. Not as hard as he could've, because he would've broken his own hand doing that, but he slapped Derek across the mouth, his eyes blazing.

"No. No, I fucking cared about you, you fucking lunatic! Even back then...God, I dreamt myself into that basement with you and I saw what she was doing! I used my powers-_through_ _you_, I might add-and I spent so much time panicked because I felt like something was wrong, but I couldn't figure out what it was! You were never alone! That's the point of us being mates, Derek. You might go off on your own, and I might do the same, but we are _connected_. There's a little red string that ties around the wrists of every couple that's meant to be on the planet, and it's always been on us. God, there were times when I thought you'd chew your arm off rather than be connected to anyone, but don't put it on me that I didn't care about you! Every time I've saved your life, I did it because it was you-not because I needed protection and not because you threatened me into it. You don't even realize that! Hell, if Scott hadn't shown up with that bullet in time, I might've activated my powers then, I know I would've, because I couldn't stand the thought of hurting you! I put that blade to your arm and my entire body felt like it was dying on me!" Derek stared at him completely expressionlessly until he slumped.

Stiles knew Derek wouldn't hurt him despite the slap, but he flinched a little as Derek reached for him, too on-edge. Derek disregarded it, and Stiles felt a wave of relief at that. "You loved me?"

"Yes, you idiot."

Derek chuckled, nodding, "Fair enough." For a long moment, they both fell silent, Stiles's penchant for talking subsiding in the face of being comfortable with his thoughts now, "I'm not mad that you did it, Stiles. But I am mad that you kept it from me."

"If I told you, you'd be worried about me-"

"I'd rather be worried about you and knowing what was going on than feeling your nightmares beside me in the night."

Stiles pouted, "My dreams have actually gotten way better since I've known you. It used to be all nightmares."

Derek sighed, running his hand through Stiles's hair and dropping a kiss, "I'd do anything in my power to keep you safe."

"I know."

"You've gotta tell me what's wrong, though."

"You, too, Mr. Taciturn."

Derek's lips twitched up, and he let Stiles get up and pull him into the kitchen to get dinner ready.

It wasn't completely out of nowhere, but it was still fairly unusual for Derek to take over the cooking and to set up the dining room like it was a date. Stiles was relegated to sitting across the kitchen reading aloud while Derek cooked-far better than Stiles could, Stiles had to admit-and lit candles that Stiles felt Derek looked completely unfair in.

"What's the cause of this?"

"Idiocy and the sudden urge to show you I love you like nothing else. Keep reading and do not complain."

Stiles grinned, shrugging: He was getting his favourite food and sex on the dining room floor after that, he had no complaints to voice. Derek disappeared upstairs once the lasagne went into the oven, and Stiles sat back in the refurbished kitchen, feeling the house press _home_ into his bones. This was where he belonged, he knew.

_You need to bring him to see us, Stiles._

"He blames himself too much for the fire as it is, Laura. Coming face-to-face with-"

_None of us blame him! _

"I know that and you know that, but, Laura, I fully expect that if he went and saw you all, he'd be going expecting wrath and anger. He's been putting himself through hell, Laura, but it's not that he just keeps going, it's that he turns around and walks right back into the worst of the flames, over and over again."

Laura's ghost made an annoyed sound, and Stiles leaned back in his chair, listening to the quiet of his home.

"I can't watch him go through any worse. I love him like a sickness, and you know it. I'm sorry, Laura, but I can't put him through more."

"Now who's not communicating?" Derek huffed, arms crossed where he leans in the doorway. Stiles regrets getting caught tonight, because sex looks like it might be off the menu, and Derek pulled on a white button-up and blue jeans just because Stiles can't stop drooling when he sees Derek wearing them. "Laura wants me-"

"She wants me to bring you over to see your family. And while normally I would be loading your ass into the Jeep and driving us there faster than a sheriff's son should, I-"

Derek's not exactly glaring at him, but he's not pleased, either, "How am I supposed to trust you-"

"No. No, okay? I know you. You'd get there and you'd die for the next year because your family doesn't blame you for the fire and you think they should. Hell, Laura knows it, too!"

"Stiles, I am absolutely right-"

"STOP! IT!" Stiles roared, on his feet. "You think you're in the right to blame yourself for falling prey to a conniving, sadistic bitch?! You were seventeen, Derek. You were a victim! She took you and used you and if I could've killed her myself, I would've. I wouldn't've even said that of Gerard, but for you, I'd've killed her in a heartbeat, because she took everything from you. It's not fair!" Stiles had tears in his eyes, the fight roaring at him and completely knocked out of him at the same time. "It's not fair that you've lost so much, Derek, and it kills me daily. You face things you shouldn't and you're so guilty and you shouldn't be. Look at me, Derek. I'm the best friend of a werewolf. I'm the sheriff's idiot son that's terrible at lacrosse and has exactly two people who he's ever been in love with, one of whom is such a good friend that she calls me her angel with no hint of sarcasm, on a daily basis. And the other is a big, moody, surly sourwolf that I will protect with my life if I have to, you can't change my mind. You keep me safe. You take care of me. I'm on my feet and fighting because of you, and I need you so bad-I need you safe and happy, Derek, I need it like I need air-I need you like I need air."

Derek looks at him, breathing ragged like he's run longer than Stiles can comprehend, because running doesn't even wind him, but there's something shining in his eyes that's incredibly vulnerable, and Stiles has to pull him into his arms, tucking his forehead against Derek's throat. "I get it." He murmured, running a hand down Stiles's back, "I'm still kind of mad, but I know...I know exactly."

Stiles nodded into the broad expanse of chest, "I know you do." Stiles kissed the collarbone under his cheek, "I love you, and I'm sorry, but I just...I don't want to see it hurt you."

Derek grunted, kissing him on the forehead, "I want to meet your mom." He murmured, and Stiles froze slightly, drawing back a little to look up at him, "Please?"

Stiles beamed, tipping onto his tip toes for a kiss. The oven timer went off, sending a jolt of shock through Stiles, pulling away from Derek's warm embrace.

They sat down to dinner with their chairs almost close enough to be on top of each other, an uneasy calm settling over them again, like the moment before a tidal wave crashed, "Is Laura still here?" Derek asked eventually, and Stiles glanced over his shoulder, nodding as Laura walked into the room from the living room.

Stiles got up, turning the lights on and blowing out the candles, and Laura looked appalled, _Tell him this can wait._

"No, he wants to talk to you." Stiles told her firmly, but Derek was frowning just as hard, "What?"

"Laura's right, this should wait."

"I…" Stiles opened and shut his mouth, watching as Laura disappeared and Derek came towards him, drawing in close and kissing him hard, "but-" Derek kissed him again, "you just-"

"Stiles," Derek growled roughly, his eyes flashing with lust, "stop talking."

Stiles grinned, pulling Derek in for a long, hot kiss, luxuriating in the slight scratch of Derek's stubble and the heat of his mouth, melting into his chest as Derek held on to him. Stiles pulled slightly, tumbling them both to the ground, landing with an 'oomph' and Stiles's evil cackle.

Derek chuckled, his mouth around Stiles's pulse, sucking a mark into his skin, making Stiles arch and moan desperately, biting on the lobe of Derek's ear, mouthing down to his neck, hard biting kisses, begging for more. Slipping his hands under Derek's shirt, greedy fingers against skin, Stiles hummed happily as Derek began to get under his clothes, peeling them away when they could coax their mouths off of each other. Stiles traced the lines and planes of muscle, moaning and snickering softly as Derek shuddered against him, grinning against his skin. Stiles dragged his nails lightly down his back, making Derek moan into his neck. Derek squeezed him tighter, and Stiles ran his hand back up the lightly flushed trail of nail marks to bury his fingers in Derek's hair, scratching lightly and gripping with just the right amount of force. "Stop it."

"You love getting your back scratched, though." Stiles murmured, "And I don't even make dog jokes about it...anymore."

Derek nipped along his collarbone, "Why do you think I'm asking you to stop?"

"I won't start making the jokes again." Stiles lifted his hips, letting Derek drag down his jeans and boxers, his fingers dragging gently down Stiles's thighs, dimpling the pale skin under his fingertips. Stiles scrubbed his fingers through Derek's hair, insistent, and Derek rumbled something between approval and protest. Derek's hand slid around Stiles's hips, the pad of one large finger pressing against his entrance, hot and so very, very good. Stiles gripped Derek's biceps desperately, moaning and pushing down. "Please tell me there's lube in those jeans."

Derek chuckled almost evilly, "You think I wouldn't come prepared?" Derek tsked gently, rubbing the soft, worn denim covering his thigh against Stiles's flushed prick. Stiles moaned, squirming desperately, "What is it about the jeans-?"

"'S not-not that...just...colour and you...brightness. You're not mourning when you wear things...like _this_!" Stiles squeaked the last word, one slick finger filling him up and making him shudder, "Do you _work_ to see how high you can make my voice go?"

"Not really, it's more a perk." Derek chuckles, leaning down to claim his mouth and suck on his lower lip until it's near fuchsia it's so flushed and bruising, hot and tender and swollen into a pout that Derek laves attention over. Stiles starts to slowly roll his hips down on that finger, moaning into Derek's mouth. "I've heard good things about make-up sex." Derek ground out with a heat that belied the conversational air of his words as he finger fucked Stiles into the smooth, warm wood of the dining room floor.

Stiles snorted, "Sex in general, with you, is good."

Derek kissed along his throat, "Flatterer." He sniggered, and Stiles laughed, humming as Derek slipped another finger home.

"It's a good thing we fight. I'd think we were pod people that switched ourselves out if we didn't."

"I don't like it." Derek insisted, kicking down his jeans haphazardly.

"Oh, hello, there, old friend." Stiles murmured, voice high and happy as he got his hands on Derek's skin, "You ever notice the two most important relationships in my life began with me telling you or a body part belonging to you that I'm not scared of you or it?"

Derek looked into his eyes for a full moment before cracking up, burying his head in Stiles's chest to muffle his laughter, "I'm glad your relationship with my dick ranks anywhere in importance-"

"It's a work of art, why the hell would it not rate?" Stiles whined, legs splayed and chest heaving. "Derek-" Stiles bit off the empty threat he couldn't really think up as Derek did what he was about to threaten him to do, making Stiles whimper at the stretch of Derek's cock filling him. Derek stopped moving once he was sheathed, kissing along Stiles's skin and ignoring the cues Stiles was trying to get him to pick up on that he wanted Derek to fucking move already. "You _are_ evil."

"What was that?"

"Move, wolf boy." Derek chuckled, turning his attention back to teasing Stiles's nipples into aching, drawing an electric path straight to his cock. "Evil."

"Still can't hear you."

"You are mean and nasty and unusual punishment and will you please just fucking _fuck me_?!" Stiles gave in, teeth closing on his sensitive lower lip as Derek snickered and did just that, "'S not fair…"

"What isn't?" Derek murmured, voice deep and rich. Stiles shuddered at the sound, pushing down into Derek's lazy thrusts.

"I can't correct your manners using sex, but you do it to me all the time."

Derek laughed, "You were the one that started making jokes about Pavlov's dogs, Stiles. Classical conditioning and all that…"

"I'll be such a good boy if I get you under the Christmas tree this year." Stiles vowed, "Nothing but a bow…"

Derek laughed, the movement making it interesting between them, cutting off into moans and harder breathing. "I wonder if they make candy cane-flavoured lube…"

Derek groaned as if he was in pain, biting a mark into Stiles's skin as he sped up, pressing his palm against Stiles's, down against the floor. Stiles's fingertips traced down over his chest, his moans muffled into Derek's mouth as Derek shifted, working for Stiles's release now, leaving him breathless and mindless on the dining room floor as he arched in a sinuous stretch of creamy pale skin as he came.

Derek bit down on his sounds, pressing hard and deep into Stiles as he came, coming down to Stiles's hand soothing over his back, rubbing gently and surely, pressing down between his shoulder blades in invitation to just let himself slump. Derek lowered himself down, moaning happily as Stiles's fingers began to scrub at his scalp again, working tension from his body expertly. "I love you, Derek. You don't have to worry about a thing, because I won't let you go."

Derek lays his ear against Stiles's chest, careful with his weight but more relaxed than he's been for a while. "I have to keep you forever." Derek replies simply, smirking as he kisses over Stiles's heart, gathering himself to get up before Stiles can convince him to just sleep there.

Stiles groans pitifully when Derek half-lifts him to his feet. Derek rolls his eyes and scoops him up immediately, ignoring Stiles's protests as he gets them to the bathroom upstairs, "But lasagne! You, your dick, and your lasagne are the three things I love most-!"

"I will reheat some and serve it to you in bed."

Stiles's eyes flashed with promise, "You're not going to let me wear clothes for the rest of the night, are you?"

"It would be redundant." Derek grins at him through his lashes, and Stiles does a wriggle meant to be a dance of celebration before Derek puts him in the tub.

That night, worn out, pleasantly sore, and bath-soft, Stiles dreams of flowers in his mother's hair and the smell of pie in his dad's house, of family and being home again.

From where he's angled himself, Stiles can see Derek standing over his mother's grave with a fistful of white lilies, his smile flashing down at her tombstone, his lips moving. Stiles feels warmed through as he sees his mother's ghost sitting on the grave, smiling in response to whatever he's telling her.

Stiles turned to the service, populated by people shooting looks of pity and misery his way; the victim of Gerard's madness. But he turned to face something much worse.

Gerard's ghost smiled sadistically, so evil that Stiles felt his heart stop and his breath get stolen from his throat. He wass panicking, he knew, and Derek would come for him in about five seconds, but not before Allison saw it.

Stiles watches in horror as Gerard pulls out a book he knows can't be good news, taking a deep breath and chanting over the sound of the sermon. Allison's hand folds around Stiles's, and Derek will be there any second, but he can't actually stop this from happening. A shockwave goes through the graveyard-throwing Allison into Stiles and sending everyone reeling with the force of what Gerard just did. Stiles sits up, searching for Derek-and he's not there.

"Derek?...Derek?!" Allison and Chris converged on Stiles, sitting him up properly, trying to calm him down, "Where is he?!" Stiles roared, searching frantically. Allison pulled him into a hug, "Where is he?"

"We'll find him." Chris vowed, the sheer force of the promise making Stiles believe him.

Allison drives him home-only, Stiles can hear the screams now. There are faces in the trees, ghostly and sick: a hanging man, a frozen trapper...more ghosts than Stiles has ever seen. And the house is on fire, Derek's family screaming for help in the basement.

Stiles can't get his feet under him, scrabbling over the loose gravel as he looks on in utter horror.

"Stiles, what is it? What-"

"It's...it's Gerard. He did...now they all. The ghosts, Allison: he's done something, the ghosts are all...reliving their deaths." Realizing where they were and what, exactly, Stiles was seeing, Allison put herself between him and the flames, her hands on his cheeks.

"Stiles-Stiles, we will get Derek back to you, and we will beat this. We've gotten through the kamina, and P-Peter…" Allison trailed off, her eyes wide and over Stiles's shoulder.

Stiles whipped around, and a man on fire stood there with his throat dripping red, "Hello, Argent...Stilinski. Now, where's my idiot nephew? I owe him a death."

"Run. House. Now." Stiles grabs Allison for extra emphasis and pulls her along with him, lashing out with his power on a wave of his hand, sending the creeper vines that contain the forest from sneaking onto the drive whipping out around Peter. He knows they won't last, but it'll help slow him down for a moment at least.

The house slams behind them, and Stiles can see the flames, is surrounded by the smoke, but when he breathes, it's clean air, smelling just like his home, and there's not heat against his skin.

"Lock the doors." His voice was strong, powerful, ringing with his strength behind them, and every lock in the house clicked closed in a simultaneous snick. Allison stared at him, eyes wide and colour burning high in her cheeks. Stiles saw it just seconds before it happened: Lydia's lurching body from where she'd fallen in the living room, swinging a kitchen knife to Allison's throat. Stiles's arm snapped out, grabbing Allison and twirling her easily away, as if it was a dance, dodging every move Lydia made because he could see it just seconds before she'd make it. Stiles turned sideways, snapping up with his elbow, twisting her arm until she lost her grip on the knife, and punching her in the jaw, his body moving faster than Allison could track and as fluidly as a river. Lydia stumbled, a hand going up to her temple as Stiles flipped the knife into his own hand, the silver of the blade flashing through the air as it flew around in his hand, a restless swing and slash through the air, unconscious and easy to the point of not belonging to him at all.

Lydia's blank eyes turned to the flash of the knife, entranced completely, her broken and haggard appearance leaving her looking like an abandoned rag doll.

"Lydia, I know you can hear me in there. Come out and play with me, sweetheart, you know I need you." Stiles told her, not even glancing at Allison. "You with me?"

Lydia shuddered, her body slumping forward, and the knife flashed out with a flick of Stiles's wrist, embedding into the wall as he moved in a sinuous slide to catch her before she hit the ground, pulling her against his side.

"Hey, there, gorgeous, ya have fun with the insane werewolf-zombie bastard running around in your head?" Stiles chirped, and Lydia smacked his arm, "Ow."

"Who the hell trusted you with a knife long enough to teach you to do that?"

"Derek." Stiles snorted.

"Ah, that makes sense, with the healing powers."

"I'd think he'd be more worried about Stiles cutting off his own fingers." Allison muttered, voice high and reedy. She was collapsed against the front door, an edged grin on her lips as she looked over at them.

Stiles grins back, shifting Lydia where she's collapsed in his lap, "You're both mean."

"You love us."

"I don't know why."

"Because we're hot, kickass women who don't take shit from no man?" Allison grins as she pulls the other two to their feet.

"Hey! I seemed fairly necessary back there!"

"Welcome to the league of kick-ass women, my dear." Lydia quipped, snorting slightly.

"I'm never going to regain my boyhood-"

"Honey, I can say with the almost-certainty of someone who's been in the room with you and Derek after a near-death experience that you lost your boyhood a while ago." Lydia teased, pursing her lips and cocking one eyebrow.

Stiles resisted the urge to wave his hand through the air to clear the smoke that wasn't choking him, "So, Peter resurrected himself, and Gerard's a ghost that decided to semi-raise the dead and force them to relive their deaths…which means Peter's in flames that can't be doused, his throat's ripped out, and he's pissed, which probably makes up for any weakness with, you know, having been dead. Derek's gone missing, we can assume kidnapped, because he would've been beside me in that graveyard in a millisecond if he could've; and right now I'm standing in the house my lover's family died in, listening to them scream with nothing to do about it. Would either of you blame me for panicking, because I feel the need…"

"No. Derek's, like, called to you by your panic, right? We can't have you panicking right now, because if Derek really starts fighting his captors, there's no telling what would happen to him."

"And you'd know if he was dead, so stop worrying about that." Lydia added, following Allison into the kitchen, away from the flames and the brunt of the smoke-and straight into the line of sight for watching Laura get cut in half. While still being able to hear the desperate screams of her and Derek's family. Oh, Stiles would make a billionaire of any therapist he decided to go to.

"How would I know that?"

"You have a freaky connection thing with him. I'm sure you'd know."

Stiles looks down, forcing himself to breathe in and out slowly; making himself calm down. He takes a moment to take stock, trying to ignore the screams, trying to think of some...insane, harebrained plan that would totally fail if it weren't for some strange miracle that Stiles would only just be able to pull off. It feels like there's something missing in his heart. He focusses on that, and only on that, bringing it up, making it fill him until everything hurt.

"St-Stiles!" Lydia cried, and Stiles opened his eyes, breaking concentration.

It looked like a model of a galaxy, floating between the palms of his hands, but the moment he lost concentration, it was gone in a flash like a camera, leaving the three of them standing there in shock, staring at his palms. "That...I...okay, Stiles, you...I don't know what you just did, but do that again. And Lydia and I are going to be very, very quiet."

Stiles's hands were shaking a little, but he nodded. Stiles let the misery flood through him, the uncertainty making his stomach a lead weight and his chest feel devoid of everything until he felt his whole body screaming for Derek there was so much pain. Lydia and Allison were holding onto his arms, holding him up, but he focussed, pressured, until the energy between his palms began to tingle. He opened his eyes, lips a stark, white line and skin beading with sweat as the energy between his palms was a picture; hazy and remote, Derek being manhandled, unconscious, into chains.

Stiles floods with wrath. He's never been so angry in his life. He can feel the poisons and drugs, a cocktail that's making Derek sick, weak, and in pain.

As with Lydia, Stiles saw it coming just moments before it happened, his Jeep picked up and tossed into the front of the house, Peter's yell of "Touchdown!"

Grabbing both girls, Stiles moves into the kitchen further, and into a compartment Derek had built hidden into the counter, pulling out weapons he'd only just started learning to use. He leaves Allison and Lydia to rifle through them, the rage filling him for Laura and the Hales. For Derek.

Stiles holds up his palm as Peter lashes out, the force of the magic hitting Peter hard enough to blow away the charred bits. It fills him until it pulls at his back, stretching out until he hears fabric tearing, a pair of great, storm-coloured wings stretching out on either side of him. Peter falters, in awe of the sight, perplexed, and Stiles pushes his advantage, striking out hard and fast, the move of his body like a reed in the wind, bursts of magic like rainbows thrown by light through crystal reinforcing every blow. Stiles keeps going, gaining ground, the flames on Peter's skin turning black against his hands, firing along his arms like hellfire.

Peter's on his knees by the hole he made in the front of the house, Stiles's Jeep crunched haphazardly in the living room, "You're-Knew you were special...fuckin' angel."

Stiles lifts Peter off of his feet with his power, rage decimating everything in him, more ruining than fire, "I've met an angel, you unmitigated assbutt. I'm _something else_." With a snap of his powers so strong it carried him to his knees, Stiles expanded the house back out, throwing Peter and the Jeep back out, and fixing the damage with a thought.

Stiles curled around himself, his nose bleeding freely and his head pounding with how much that took. He could hear Lydia and Allison meekly coming out, and he wanted to make a joke about kickass women, but he'd get his ass kicked, and that would not be the best of plans.

Lydia plucked him up, struggling as he tried to get his legs under him to help her, but mostly carrying him towards the stairs and up to the washroom.

The taps turn on the moment Stiles looks at them, and the tub plugs itself as she dumps him in.

Stiles looked at the feathery appendages that shredded through his suit, his fingers too unsteady to help as Lydia salvaged his tie and tore off the rest. The bath filled until Stiles could go under completely, submerged to the bottom, his skin making the water steam it was so hot against the cool. Slowly, the water seemed to slip into the cracks the fire of pure fury had left, and Stiles felt himself healed.

Surfacing back out of the water, Stiles stood immediate, looking at his wings before turning his head to look at his girls. Allison and Lydia both looked relieved and petrified, tears in their eyes before they were both reaching for him, hugging him tight, "I thought you were gonna die...oh, god…"

"I'm fine, Lyds."

"I-I read some Irish lore...when...when you were classified as being a-a fairy, I started to research," Stiles can't help the bark of a laugh that's too hard and not right, but they don't flinch and both of them actually smile wryly at him, "I read water has healing properties-I have no idea why…"

"Hey, you did get me back on my feet now, see? You and Allison are not holding me up right now, and I'm not hemorrhaging in my brain now: you done good, kid."

Lydia sniffed, shaking her head jerkily, though her lips quirk slightly with pride she would deny herself, as she looked down at the water. "But you're supposed to, like, invoke-"

"Not with me, Lyds. With me, it's just-add-water." Stiles smirks, feeling...so very different. Changed. He settles himself, squares himself, and feels, like cool touches over fevered skin, the wings settle into the skin of his back, no longer protrusions. Allison swivelled him around before he could so much as turn his head-and, yeah, now Lydia and Allison were both groping his back. "Stop it, that tickles!" Stiles squirmed, and something stirred on his back-_in_ his back-making Lydia gasp.

"You could fool me that you're not an angel, Stiles." Lydia murmured, "Though...you know, I know that your mom said you were old-magic...what if...what if the angels we know are fairies that didn't take sides in that epic dick-off between Oberon and Titania your mom told you about?" Stiles turned around, catching her hands.

"Stop, Lyds. Can't slow down now, I need...I need to find Derek. I need to kick ass and take names until he's back with me where he belongs, Gerard is in Hell where _he_ belongs-sorry, Allison-and Peter's his bunkmate."

Allison looked almost proud of him, "I'm going to call Scott."

"Good grief-No, 'cause he'll actually pick up for you…" Stiles grumbled, rolling his eyes, turning to get a look at his back in the bathroom mirror.

Scars that were never there before lined his back in the shape of two angel's wings, as if they'd been branded there. "That...is actually kind of sexy. If I wasn't already completely taken, I would use this to my advantage."

The tension broke between the girls, though Stiles still felt...apart. He wasn't there, in the moment with them, he was somewhere else, and it was starting to make him restless, his back twingeing. Stiles watched as a flash of feathers rose and settled back into his skin, coughing a small, surprised laugh.

"I think I should probably leave a shirt off, but I am not going to." Stiles muttered sourly.

"You could pull that off, actually. I didn't think you'd be so…"

"Ripped? Built? Ab-tastic?"

Lydia giggled, wrinkling her nose in amusement, "Shirt." Stiles rolled his eyes, shaking his head, "Also, when we find him, I double dare you to call Derek 'ab-tastic'."

"I've already done that. It resulted in a very thorough make out session on the desk in the library." Stiles waggled his eyebrows at the girls, opening the bedroom and snagging up one of Derek's favourite shirts, pulling it on almost defiantly, "If he's going to make me come after him like Prince Charming, he can risk his shirt." Rolling his eyes at the hope he knew Lydia was broadcasting, Stiles climbed over the bed, grabbing his bag and the white ash-mace hybrid Deaton had helped him concoct in case of emergency. "Did you two arm yourselves?"

Allison nodded, her eyes flashing dangerously, ready for battle, "What do you need?"

"Call in the cavalry, I need to find him, and I want to test a theory on how I'm going to do that. Get your dad to phone the Winchesters, I want a word with Dean's angel when this is done."

"Anything else?"

"Call me when it gets worse." Lydia shot him a confused look, "It's magic done by Gerard Argent. It wasn't just for me, so he's playing at something. He might be out for revenge, but I don't think so. I may have been the one to press charges, but he'd go for Derek, not me. It will get worse."

Allison nodded, looking pale and sad, "We'll have your back when you're ready for us."

"Thanks." Stiles hugged them both, Lydia squeezing him tight.

"Fix this, Stilinski. You're the man for the job. We love you."

"Love you guys, too, Lyds."

Stiles didn't so much as glance at his crunched up beloved, though Peter, stabbed through each limb and his chest with a tree that Stiles knew for a fact had been on the other side of the yard, was hard to miss. Stiles waved at the tree, and wasn't even startled when the tree seemed to wave back.

Where a young boy who'd lost his mother left a handprint of light against the door of a husk of a house, light shined again, because, this time, the house would keep its family safe. It had the forest and the sky on its side.

Stiles summoned the storm easily, building the sky into a rage that matched the small part of him still in touch with his feelings. He felt like he'd be shifted if he were a wolf; like he'd be able to do the damage he wanted to, tearing into the people that were hurting Derek with teeth and claws like the animal he wanted to be in the face of this.

There was no mercy in him right now; no trace of fear for the consequence or the retribution. He wanted his lover back; he wanted to kill the idiots stupid enough to have taken him.

Stiles stopped in a clearing, closing his eyes and feeling the forest stretch out around him, the chilling freedom of it, his breath just slightly fogging in the resistantly cold spring air. "You want to talk to me, I know you do." Stiles growled out, "Come and get me, Gerard."

_I am sorry, boy, but you chose the wrong man to love-_

"No, no, I don't think I did." Stiles turned to the shell of the old man; taking in the familiar, haggard lines of the pain that came with cancer. He thought of his mother, and his stomach turned. "You see, Derek's taught me some things."

_Oh, has he, now?_

"Things like the way a victim feels when they're powerless; and how it feels to find out you're never powerless."

Confusion flashed over the old man's features, and Stiles smiled sadistically, turning his attention to the gathering ghosts around them, the ghosts that Gerard was making to suffer. _What are you playing at-I can help you!_

"No, you can't, Gerard. I will not be a party to what you're planning-"

_I know what you are-what you really are! I know your powers and your weaknesses! _

"No, you don't." Stiles snorted, "You might know how to make me resurrect you-but I've never done something like that. Too dangerous for you...but you'd...you'd try it on someone...you'd be okay with putting down twice if you had to." Stiles trailed off, pale and dangerous now, still in a way that was entirely unnatural for him, "You've miscalculated, Gerard."

_Oh, and how's that? _

Stiles smirked, a premonition forming in the back of his mind; a hunter preparing to kill Derek to get him to bring him back. "I may not be able to survive without him-but he can survive without me."

_You die and he'll still die, too-all your little friends-_

"I die, and no amount of poison will stop Derek. I die, and my little friends are safe, because I was born to bring together, and these ghosts will want your blood." Stiles reasoned.

_You're not-_

Stiles drew a knife, holding it to his throat without a single tremor in his hand. He could almost feel the hunter going for Derek. "Run that by me again?" Stiles concentrated, wishing painfully hard for Derek to hear him,_ I love you._

He could feel Derek's panic, Derek's yell of his name, desperate and pained, and, as the blade pierced his skin, Stiles could feel Derek break free of what was holding him down and hurting him. He could feel it more than the pain, the heat of his blood falling to the forest floor.

Derek's howl could've moved mountains, and the last thing Stiles can get a grip on is relief, because it was real, and he didn't just kill himself for a daydream. Derek would be safe. Derek would live.

Stiles was lifted, flying, safer even than he was with his forest around him. There was a rumble around him, vibrating through him, but Stiles was free.

* * *

Derek had run from where they'd been keeping him to the clearing Stiles had died in in less time than it would've taken a flash of lightning. Faintly, Derek could see ghosts converging on the man standing over Stiles's bleeding body. Derek hoped that they tore off Gerard's limbs and beat him with the wet ends.

Derek carried Stiles through the forest, over the roads, moving faster than a werewolf should've rightfully been able to, to get Stiles to Deaton. Derek heard Stiles's heart stop. Derek wanted to be able to run like Superman, fast enough to turn time back; to have Stiles alive in his arms.

There were so many things Derek wanted to do. Wanted to say. Just _wanted,_ to the point of pain.

Derek slept at Deaton's that night. The wolf in him wanted to curl around Stiles. To wait until he woke up, because there was no way-_-no way_-that he could be dead.

The first ghost to be seen was seen by Lydia; the mean Mrs. Pemberthy coming at her for dressing like a "floozy". Jackson was with her, saw the woman, too.

After that, reports backed up on ghosts. They couldn't hide anymore, the fabric between where they walked and where the living walked too thin.

Derek felt like a part of him was holding its breath for Stiles's voice in the house, telling him to get up, sourwolf, and figure out how to get his body back because he wanted lasagne and sex.

That day never came.

Laura was with him now; and sometimes his mother, when he won out on being missed more than the rest of her family, released from the house and ready to be rid of it.

Derek talked with them for hours, hashing out everything he needed to thrash until it was dead. (He had to be a better man by the time Stiles got back, so Stiles would never leave again.)

With the forgiveness of his family, Derek could face the mistake he'd made with Kate. He could look at it, and look himself in the eye a little easier.

When the Winchesters showed up, Dean appeared with enough alcohol to give even his hardened liver alcohol poisoning. Derek knew it wouldn't help, but...but.

"I'm still waiting for him." Derek told his feet; told the empty house that was made whole again by Stiles's laugh.

Sheriff Stilinski came without the ghost of his wife. Together, he, Dean and Derek began to take the Jeep apart and put it back together again, exactly as it had been; Sam sitting in silence.

When the sheriff broke down while Dean and Sam were off for parts, Derek couldn't stop himself from hugging him; and then found himself breaking down, too.

"I don't think I'll ever stop waiting for him."

The sheriff sniffs almightily, and looks up at him with the authority of age, "That's not the way Stiles died to have you live. He died for this town. He died a hero, because my boy was one, he always has been. You remember him; you fight for him; and you smile for him, but don't you dare stop living, he'd never want that."

Derek couldn't speak, and he didn't need to.

Derek didn't go to the funeral, he couldn't. It would be admitting Stiles wasn't coming back, somehow, by hook or by crook.

He'd lost so much, put so many people in the ground. Peter was dead again, and Derek had no one but the sheriff left. And Stiles's friends.

They came to his doorstep after the funeral, all of them dressed in horrible, obnoxious colours that Stiles would've insisted on. Jackson's silent the whole night through, and it's almost as painful as the way Scott won't shut up. Scott catches sight of the Jeep, and it's the first time the whole night that Scott took a break, the five minutes of silence stretching out to agony the same way Stiles talked constantly to save them from.

Lydia breaks it, tears in her eyes and choking her voice, "He told me, once...that death doesn't happen to you; it happens to everyone around you. I don't...I don't understand. Why would he do this?"

It doesn't click for Derek for another few days, what she meant. He'd put it down to no other choice. But Stiles is Stiles; there's always something, somewhere in the plan-some way that they all make it out alive.

Allison's the one that manages to tell him everything that happened after he'd been abducted. Derek's thunderous, and Dean Winchester gets a call in Missouri for him to get his ass back to Beacon Hills, and his angel there pronto.

Castiel doesn't show, but he doesn't need to.

Derek's figured it out.

Derek goes to the graveyard, holding a bouquet of white lilies for Stiles's mother. Stiles gets no bouquet: He's coming home with Derek tonight, because Derek doesn't care anymore, what he's supposed to do-he will get Stiles back.

There's a man in black, face like a skeleton, and Derek's met this man before, once. At a funeral. _The_ funeral. The only one he'd ever go to, because he couldn't not flagellate himself like that. "Death."

"The Horseman of, yes. I've been waiting for you for a long while now," he doesn't need to express in anything beyond tone how disappointed he is at that.

"What do I have to do?"

Death tilted his chin, "You've done it already." He answered easily, gesturing with a nod of his head over Derek's shoulder. "He had to crawl through Hell to get back to you, Mr. Hale, and that, let me tell you, is not what he was meant for. Take better care of my grandson, will you?" Derek can't hear it, because he's turning, and there's Stiles, wild-eyed and panting, steam coiling off his body, even in the warmer air.

Stiles is shaking like he's coming apart, his wings fluttering, and he's wearing just a pair of pants, shredded and bloodstained.

Derek takes one step towards him, and the steel in Stiles's amber eyes could kill him. "Stiles…" He whispers his name finally like it's being dragged from the very depths of his grief.

Stiles blinks once, twice-and then it's like someone flips a switch, the wit and the shrewd intellect and the kindness flooding back into those eyes that've haunted Derek's dreams. Derek takes another step, and Stiles impacts with him almost hard enough to bring the both to ground, Derek's hand closing in Stiles's hair, pressing tight between the blades of his shoulders, where the wings meet Stiles's back.

Stiles sobs into his shirt once, breathing in and choking and trying to breathe more, frantic and desperate and messy. Derek learns what breaking really feels like in that moment. Where every one of his losses had broken him, he'd built himself back up. But relief was a bitch. Relief didn't let up and you can't prepare for it. Relief didn't simply break him. It levelled him entirely.

Later, when he has Stiles trapped against him and he can feel the warmth (cooled from the fires of hell, but still warm) of Stiles's skin, Stiles will hit him and ask what the fuck took him so long.

"You had to want me." Stiles will explain, "I fought my way through Hell, Derek, and when I got through, you had to pull me home to you."

"I wanted you-Stiles, I wanted you-"

Stiles will press his fingers to Derek's lips and one corner of his mouth with quirk down, "You had to go through Hell, too, though, I know. I'm sorry. I thought you might be willing to do that, in exchange for Gerard in the hot seat downstairs."

Derek will try again, and Stiles won't let him, kissing him silent and sliding his body against Derek's, familiar in a way that brings tears of relief to them both again. They won't be capable of _not_ touching each other for over a month, in every way they can. Derek will hold him tight for every night for the rest of their lives, so close that Stiles will joke about just buying a single bed and having done with it. Derek will never lose the fear that it was a dream, Stiles coming back to him; but it will fade a little.

They'll call the sheriff and the pack come the dawn. They'd rather have this moment for this love.

Stiles's mother will smile at his father as he sleeps with a picture of them all, and she'll tell him the same things she's always told him: there are three rules in the world that are absolute.

_Hope is always on the wing. _

_We are all connected. _

_And love is stronger than death._

* * *

**A/N: Thank you so much for your feedback/support on "This House Is Falling Apart". I didn't know exactly it wasn't done, so this was a surprise for me, too. I don't know if there's any more story to get out of this world, so stay posted. TTFN**


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